The Lives of Seven
by Maukey
Summary: The lives of seven soldiers in the First World World each in different positions tells their stories through their eyes. A Canadian, an American who happens to be positioned with the Canadians, an English man, a Dutchman, a German officer, a Frenchman, and a British spy.
1. White Feather

White Feather - Matthew's Story Part 1

The chilled air swirled around in a slight gust tossing around the golden coloured leaves around the young blond man's boots. He pulled up the collar of his coat before plunging his hands into his warmer pockets cursing the early winter breeze that disrupted the nice autumn day. Except for a group of strangers who chattered quietly about the grief of the war, the streets were rather empty yet even so he felt the need to duck through some alleys, whether it was a quicker route to get to where he intended to go or some other reason that led him. He could still hear the woman as one sobbed about her husband and another worried for her three sons. He paused as a cold sense chilled his blood and rushed through his body. His lungs seemed to clench the oxygen and hold it in causing his body to go rigid. His heart raced and is hands clenched and unclenched as he swallowed. Just thinking of the war terrified him. His friends had all too willingly signed up joking about how Matthew was a wee babe and too innocent for the war. They teased him about it and he took it. It was easier for him to think that he was simply too innocent for such gruesome terror than to admit to himself that he was frightened. He was frightened when most felt proud to serve for the honour and protection of their land and the commonwealth. He, well he chose to stay behind. Stay home while the other's faked their ages or eagerly stood in line and wrote their name on the sheet signing their own death warrant in his eyes. He was old enough to fight certainly, but his heart wasn't in it. He wanted to continue studying, continue living even if it was deemed cowardly through other's eyes. And he knew people thought it as his own father made it very clear on his thoughts on Matthew's choices, more like his disdain on Matthew's choices.

He took a breath, still clenching and unclenching as he tried to clear his mind of the thought of the war. However he was not granted the chance as he continued on his route. All along the brick alleys were splashes of colours from propaganda posters promoting the war, promoting the joining of the army , the glory and pride that one will get for fighting that attracted any passerby's eyes. On one, three silhouetted figures marched up a hill, guns fixed with deadly bayonets fixated ahead as the soldiers posed heroically. The pinkish background of the poster aided the black silhouettes in standing out as the banner read 'Your Chums are Fighting Why Aren't YOU?' Matthew shuddered at how the 'you' was underlined and bolded, feeling it strike home, almost as if it was mocking and judging him. His guilty gaze shifted to another that was just visible from the corner of his sight. Men on horseback was on this black and white one, the men seeming to come closer to the viewer. The one centered soldier looked off at a side angle, gazing through his binoculars as his steed looked the viewer straight on. 'Canadian Mounted Rifles' were displayed in huge black letters above the men, and just below it in smaller letters read 'Headquarters Hamilton, Ont.' Below in the black grass, this time in large white letters it read 'Quick Service Overseas' and in the right side read 'Canada's Rack Calvary Corps' with the large C of Canada being the C for all the rest of the words.

Matthew shook his head looking down at his feet as he continued walking back home no longer daring to look up or pause as guilt began building up like the steaming in a squealing kettle. It's all a ploy to get young and eager men fresh out of school, to trick promising boys with a bright future ahead of them into becoming mindless lambs to be lead by power hungry wolves to the slaughter. Wolves who will sit at home in safety at their desk, shiny new boots up on their desks as their lambs trudge on and on blistering their feet and wearing in their boots to the point that they walk their feet right off.

Matthew could almost hear the hooves beating, like drums, flattening the dead cracked earth under hoof as the men rode on. Hear the snorts of the horses as they shook their heads in hopes of preventing the flies from biting their necks and faces, their hair lightly hitting their strong necks. He could almost feel the sense of tension that hung over them, looming over like Death who lead them on strings either to safety or to heaven. He could almost smell the smell of horses. Of a stale cold air. Taste the faint taste of iron in water from a canteen that was warmed by the sun from the day long ride. Feel the ache in his ass and...

Suddenly he was jostled from his thoughts as collided with a smaller figure. His ears turned beet red as he fumbled for words looking up at the beautiful girl that stood before him, his tongue quickly trying to form an apology of some sort.

"Merde," he said looking at her before realizing that was the wrong word and turned even more flustered.

"Excuse me?" The girl quirked an eyebrow, her eyes looking at him as her arms wrapped around her chest loosely as the wind caused the edge of her dress to dance in the breeze. He felt his gaze wander down her body to stare at the dress before quickly adverting them realizing he was digging himself deeper into a hole.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention as to where I was going. It was entirely my fault, sorry." He fumbled for the right words, this time more satisfied with the end result.

"Oh no, it's no big deal really. Everyone seems a bit spacey as of late. Perhaps as of recent events or even just the colder weather. Don't worry over it," she gave a warm and reassuring smile to him before her expression quickly changed. It was at that moment that he had suddenly recognized her and felt a sudden sense of panic.

"Weren't you in one of my classes? Yes, you're that Matthew boy right? The one that was really good with science." She looked at him expecting to be right and he didn't know what to say. For a moment the thought of lying and saying that he was someone else ran through his mind. She tilted her head, her hair getting caught in her expensive earrings that glittered and sparkled.

"Yeah, that's me." Shit I should have lied was all he could have thought instantly regretting his choice of the truth.

"Oh, I thought you to be the type to have signed off." Here it comes, here it comes he thought over and over again stiffening from her words. "But then again you were always so cautious and quiet so I see why you wouldn't, I mean if I was in your shoes I would probably be doing exactly what you are. I mean just the thought is," she continued until another girl came skipping grabbing the other's shoulder causing her to squeak in alarm.

"Hey what are you doing? Flirting?" She teased, her voice obnoxious and grating to Matthew's ears. "Oh hey, I remember you, you're that smart science nerd." Matthew winced instantly remembering her. The one girl in the class that didn't take it seriously and must have paid under the table to have passed, the one that needed a real attitude adjustment. "Hey, shouldn't you be at war? With all the other able body men?" She hissed her demeanour changing suddenly as her lips curled into a twisted smile."

"Really, just leave the poor boy alone," he wanted to nod at the nicer girl's comment but he couldn't. He was frozen. Frozen by sheer terror. He felt like a baby bunny that had been flushed out of his den by rabid foxes and mother was nowhere near.

"What's your reason to be staying behind then huh?" She got closer her words like venom to Matthew's ears. His mouth once more tried forming words but he was caught and they wouldn't come out. No sound escaped his bumbling lips desperately, pleadingly, looking at the nice girl for help, for anything.

"Really, we ought to get going it's getting late and its cool," the girl tried taking her friend's arm but the obnoxious one wouldn't have any of it.

"You're not sick. You have a nice frame, a bit scrawny at the moment but really just a bit of muscle toning and you would do fine. Just because you got special attention in school doesn't mean that you can just let all the others fight for you. This war affects us all, it shouldn't take a smart kid like you to even figure that one out. Or were you just thinking of letting all the mediocre kids do the fighting since you're smart and more valuable."

"N-No, it's not that!" Matthew blurted, each one of her words hitting him hard and burdening him like a pound of iron that slowly drug him under into the dark abyss ocean of fear. His body seized in a cold panic as his heart raced and his lungs seemed to lock. His thoughts rambled through his head screaming to flee, that he couldn't fight, he couldn't fight, but his legs remained anchored there.

"My brother is fighting in that war you know. He at least knows what's right. He's at least brave. Unlike you, you're like an insult to all Canadians who are fighting overseas Coward." She quickly looked over at the other girl as if expecting her to do something, something Matthew dreaded. The girl looked down defeated from the more intimidating stare of the more obnoxious one before muttering a soft apology as her hands fumbled into her purse clicking it open and pulling out a small little tin. The more obnoxious girl snatched it from her, eyes eager and hungry as Matthew tried to give one last pleading look hoping it would reason with the girl. The little silver tin was plain, its lid hung from small hinges. The quiet girl stepped forward opening the tin and sighing.

"Matthew, for reasons that I am sure you will understand, I must present you with this," her voice was quiet and pained as she took what was in it and got close. Matthew took a sharp intake through his nose, smelling the scent of forest on her clothes and maple as she got close pinning on the pin before stepping back looking solemnly at him.

"I am so sorry,"

"Don't be he deserves it,"

He looked down and felt his whole world come crashing down. He should have lied about his name. He should have lied.

There pinned on his coat was a small white feather.


	2. Digger

A.N: Hey guys sorry for the long wait. I had to rearrange the order of the chapters and well Holidays came up :)  
Anyways, sorry for any errors in the text. I didn't have a lot of time to correct it and I wanted to post it right away so I can get the next story done.

Digger- Arthur's Story

There was something oddly comforting about the absolute darkness that cradled Arthur. About the way the earthy and musty smell seemed to fill every sense and become a part of his very being. It was completely understandable why some people were so uneasy underground. It was certainly a whole new world, a dangerous one that left you stripped of your strongest sense, your sight. One that made you uneasy from the heightened sense of hearing that you acquire. But what is a world without its dangers?

For most, the compact feeling of a narrow tunnel held up by wooden beams as the sole source of support that kept this ticking time-bomb from snuffing their lives away early was too much. Instead, they chose to fight above ground where bullets will likely pierce their bodies and leave them bleeding out in a place where very few would risk the chance to go and save them. Arthur hummed a low note, perfectly at ease. The thought of the world above him, the grounds where the fire of explosions rained down and the rattling of the machine guns frightened him more than down here did. He was much more at home down here, where the soil muffled the screams of agony and clotted the smell of decay. The Earth's embrace was always comforting to him, like a second home for him. After all, he was a miner by trade. And he would be lying if he didn't admit to his excitement when he was drafted and he found out that he wouldn't need to learn to shoot a machine gun. Instead he gets to do what he did back home. Well except for the constant threat of being blown up from enemy diggers, and the fact that they would have to stop five times at least every hour to listen for the diggers of the enemy, and the fact that they are trying to blow stuff up. In all honesty, it wasn't anything like back home but still, Arthur was use to being in the dark about things, quite literally.

His eyes were easily adjusted to the darkness as he grazed his hands against the walls of the tunnel, still needing to feel his way around as he went deeper and deeper, calming his breathing. He paused hearing the laboured breathing of men as they used pickaxes to chip away at the rocky walls in a perfect tempo with one another. He neared a small flickering light from a sole lantern as four men worked on the lengthening the tunnel. Some dirt rained down like sand from an hourglass as the ground seemed to shake from above as the men froze with a look of panic on their faces. Was the tunnel about to collapse or was it just from an explosion that rattled the heavens somewhere miles of rocks above. It was places like this that really made you think twice and hard about whether or not there is a sky at all. Time seemed to freeze. The flame on the candle danced, casting more flickering shadows on the walls, a few droplets could be heard as they rolled off the stones and onto the ground into a puddle. What the liquid was, was unknown to the men, but they prayed it was water or just moisture from their breaths.

Arthur waved at the men, looking at them when he felt assured the whole place wasn't going to come crashing down. He was sure it wasn't a Bwca who warned them of a coming cave-in or at least he prayed so.

"Bwca just letting us know that they are here. Letting us have some peace of mind chaps..." Arthur's voice cracked as he sensed a sudden lighten in the mood. He could tell most of the superstitious men were relieved to know that a spiritual being was watching over them, aiding them and willing to warn them of impending doom. Even Arthur wished to believe that one was watching over them now.

It was thanks to one of these spirits that he was still here. A few years just before the war he recalled a moment when he had went deep into a coal mine and heard a few knocks which rattled his bones that seemed to cause him to lock up and tense up. He had suddenly felt very wrong and had decided it was best to turn around and head back to the surface. A few men had followed but some refused to believe his gut feeling. He attended the funeral of those who ignored him the next day after they were unable to find the bodies in the rubble of the collapsed mine. But this time it was different. This time he didn't feel the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that squeezed the air out of his lungs and locked his legs. And he learnt to always go with his gut feeling.

He held up the lantern watching the men break a sweat as their shoulders rippled with the recoil of the iron pickaxe against the stone from the slow gruelling task. The steady beating of the axe against stone brought kept even pace like the drums of rowers in the past as each man played their part, sweat running down their bodies like pearls. A few more minutes passed until Arthur raised his hand and the men froze, two men in particular shuffled their weight and made room for Arthur as he walked to the wall. He placed a finger to his lips sticking the eartips of the stethoscope into his ears and the chest piece to the cold stone. He listened for any kind of chiselling sounds but there was nothing. Keeping it there, he let his breath out realizing that he was holding it in the whole time. It must have been a minute before Arthur dropped the chest piece and nodded to the workers who took the key as they started chiselling away at the rock.

Arthur pulled back and placed the lantern on the ground as he got down on one knee unfolding a map. It shouldn't take them much longer with the pace they were going at but it was still uneasy to not hear from any of the enemies. If they were nearing their location, surely the enemies must be digging as well. He knew all too well that the two parties could collide into one another. And the one caught unaware would be blown to bits by ten ton of dynamite. But they had to keep digging forward. They didn't have time to stop and trying and listen to every inch of the tunnel. The sooner they got to their intended destination the better. Yet why did the thought of miles off tear at his mind. He had calculated it all, they were going their intended direction. Yet at any given time they could have started leaning. Maybe now they were far too East. Or West. No, he shook his head to clear the doubts that muddled in his brain. He has been doing this for years, so why would no all of a sudden he calculate everything wrong. He needed to just take a moment and clear his mind that's all. He couldn't let months of hard work go down the drain.

He folded the map up and brushed the dirt off his knee and began his duties once again. Finally after months of hard labour, they were going to reach the end. And then maybe he could return home for a few weeks and see his family. Even if they weren't on good speaking terms. Perhaps this time away will help soften any harsh relationships that they harboured for one another. A smile tugged on his lip as he recalled all the stupid little fights he would get into with his siblings.

Hours passed and at each changing hour Arthur would repeat his actions to check and listen, each time nodding for the men to continue their labour. He wondered how much longer they were going to go with no hitches, although he wasn't complaining that the whole operation was going smoothly. Finally the moment arose. He raised his hand as the men just froze, trying to quietly catch their breath as Arthur once more pulled out the map before nodding with a satisfied smile.

"Looks like we're on point. Men start setting up the explosives." The men seemed to silently cheer knowing that their hard work was over and that all there was left to do was set up the charge. Arthur knew that none of the men doubted him. They were more so pleased to know that their job was done and that all these hard gruelling months of work was finally at an end and that they could enjoy a small break at home from the war before being shipped off to start another tunnel. The thought of returning home was pleasing to Arthur as he watched the men bring in ton after ton of explosives and others worked on the wiring, twisting and breading the fuses together. A fluttering feeling started to appear in his stomach. It was always the charge that was the most deadly part of tunnelling. A simple miscalculation could cause the whole tunnel system to fall and collapse on them, killing them all or trapping them until they finally run out of oxygen. At least with working in the tunnels back at home you knew that there was a chance that people would come and rescue you. Here however, no one really knows where you are. If you got trapped well, no one will know for the longest time and the chances of them finding you is slim to none.

After everything was set up they unwound the fuse leading it away from the explosives and down the tunnel a safe distance only after going around a bend in the tunnel. Taking out a lighter Arthur bent down and lit the fuse waiting until there was a good spark before pulling away and pocketing the lighter. The men all took a few more steps back, a few of them already on their way out of the tunnel. Arthur had half the mind to follow them and just leave but he stayed and watched the sparking fuse as the spark made its way slowly down the line and closer to the explosives. He could hear its hissing as it made its way around the corner, see the flickering light on the wall of the bend before the light grew fainter and fainter until finally disappearing into the darkness, to far now to cast shadows on the wall that they could see. He listened intently to the silence, still able to hear the hissing before it all went silent. It was too far to be heard now, he thought to himself but still he felt the need to stay. Men called at him and he turned to leave with them knowing that it will hit the explosives in a matter of minutes, that it would be better to be outside when that does happen in the off chance that the entire complex tunnelling system came down from it. However a few minutes of walking passed and he stopped in confusion. The charge never came. It should have came by now there was no real reason for a delay as long as this unless something wasn't tied properly, or the spark went out.

"Wait here men. I'll check the fuse to see if something is the matter. It's probably just that something wasn't tied properly or there was a bend in the wire. I'll fixe it and tie on some more fuse to it and set it off again. Give me five minutes and I will be back." He smiled, patting a man's shoulders before briskly walking back, jogging when he was out of line of sight of the men. All the possibilities were floating around in his head as he jogged until he got to the bend. He stopped taking a deep breath as he rounded the bend. There was one more bend to go, probably where the fuse had stopped or gone out. He walked around the bend noticing a bit of fallen rubble that landed on the wire. He removed it thinking that was where it was but froze as he noticed the charred line. If that wasn't where it had stopped then where was the spark. He didn't have any time to think further as he heard the loud hissing growing into a loud whining as he looked ahead. The spark was there, and it caught finally, it was only delayed.

A sinking feeling sickened his stomach as he turned to start bolting. Five, four, three. He was at the first bend, just in-between the two bends that was designed to help prevent the rest of the tunnel from falling. He was just about around the last one where they had originally set the fuse when the explosion struck.

The force of the charge knocked Arthur off his feet, hitting the ground painfully as he heard the place collapsing around him, the groaning of the support beams above his head as he scrambled to his feet crawling and covering his head as dirt rained down around him. Then everything went black.

He coughed sitting up, hand grasping for the tunnel walls, his vision blurry and black. It was dark, no longer lit from dim lanterns but his eyes adjusted fairly quickly as he looked at the wall of rubble in front of him. His ears were ringing and his head screamed, feeling something warm and sticky rolling down the side of his face. He clawed at some of the rubble realizing it was a feeble attempt but instincts were yelling at him to escape. He was trapped. He felt around for a breeze through the rocks ahead of him, cursing as he realized that there was no draft. At least he would die a somewhat peaceful death. He was told that eventually as oxygen grew thin your body would fall into a sleep where you would pass away. Better than starving to death. He slid down back to the tunnel wall as more dirt rained down and the beam above him groaned. Maybe if he was lucky it would break and he would be snuffed out and crushed instantly. Either way, he knew he was dead. The chances of being saved was slim.

He suddenly wished that he had a small flask of booze in his pocket like some of the men he worked with. One last pint at the local tavern that he frequented back at home. There were awful pretty lasses that worked there, with decent sized bosoms with dresses that emphasized them nicely. A place where you could look but couldn't touch as they had found out one evening when his eldest brother, under a bit of influence from the scotch had touched one's arss. He couldn't help but chuckle weakly to himself remembering how quickly she had spun around and how he heard the smack her hand made as it hit his brother's face. And the look on his drunk brother's face was hilarious. Of course the next day his brother had apologized profusely to the girl. And how done his other older brother was at them.

His brothers.

He was never going to be able to say goodbye to them. He was forever to remain in a falling out with them. Just before the war they had an argument and all went their separate ways. Arthur had went to the mines to forget about them. What the fight was about escaped him. And now he suddenly realized how childish it was. If only he could apologize to them. How pathetic that it took a moment like this, that it took until death, for him to realize his mistake.

"God," he murmured realizing how odd it is to be thinking of God at a time like this. He wasn't religious one bit and yet here he was, feeling the need to pray. "God, I know I never talk to you. And well, I don't bloody blame you for not wanting to listen to me now. But please, if I can ask one thing of you. The pastors always said that you loved every last one of us. So please just hear me out. I...well I want for you to make sure that my brothers are looked after. I don't ask for myself. Just for my brothers to be safe and protected. That they know that I am sorry for everything that I've done. That I am sorry for ignoring them and kicking them out of my lives. I wish to be able to say this in person I will not lie God. But I," he found it hard to swallow. "Please just protect them and guide them. I wish for all of them to make up, and have good lives, and find love, and nibblings. I," he sighed, "that's all I want. Please God if you could hear the prayers of a dying man. I don't know why I ask you of this but please," He leaned his head on the wall of the tunnel mumbling how he was sorry. Apologizing to each of his brothers for all the times he's been a dick to them. Soon things began to grow fuzzy, his breaths more raspy as he used up more and more oxygen. This was it, he knew it. Sleep was lulling him, death beckoning him with such tender softness, arms stretching to embrace him in a comforting hug. His eyes grew heavy closing and fluttering open as his body began going dormant. He would soon sleep and then, guided ever so softly into the bosom of Death and guided away into the darkness. No one would find him here. He would go missing. Maybe his brothers wouldn't miss him...maybe.

Sleep. Beckoned and the world around him grew dark. Maybe...

Something awoke him, a tapping dull at first but growing louder. He fought with the urge to sleep to open his eyes one last time, being greeted by darkness. Perhaps he had never opened his eyes to begin with, perhaps he was still dreaming, dying. And then, a loud sound could be heard as the darkness gave way to a bright light. Everything went dark again and Arthur felt a sensation of flight until everything ceased to be.

A.N: A Bwca is a Welsh spirit of the mines. The U.S version of these spirits are known as Knockers or Tommyknockers. They are either leprechaun like creatures or spirits of deceased miners who knock on the rocks to warn miners of an incoming cave-in. At times, miners who are superstitious would refuse to work in a mine without knowing if there were these benevolent spirits.


	3. Soldier

Soldier - Alfred's story

The guts, the glory, especially the girls. All reasons why Alfred chose to hand in his papers to the recruiting officer of the town back home in America. Sure his country wasn't involved in this silly European war but Alfred had received lovely welcoming by some British girls when his ship landed. True, they were nothing like the girls back home but Alfred had all intentions to have a few good times before returning home a hero with a medal on his breast.

Yet nothing could have snapped him into reality so quickly. War was nothing like what they told him back home. It was not glorious, adventurous or something that should be promoted to all and suddenly Alfred had found himself out of England and to the front lines. He shuddered, keeping his back pressed to the wall of the trenches and knees to his chest. His feet were drenched from the water that was pooling in the centre at the very bottom of the trench. His dirty fingers trembled and his breath fogged as he rubbed his hands together before cupping them over his mouth and breathing out in hopes of warming them. His whole body ached as he tried to shift his body, kicking one of his legs awake with the other. Ignoring the static, pinpricking sensation that coursed though his leg, he looked around at the sullen, sunken faces. Fear plastered their faces through the cracked mud and blood. It had been quiet all night and hardly a man had managed to get a wink of sleep in fear of the enemies barrage of fire as they tried to catch them off guard. And yet it is still quiet and nearly dawn.

The last time it was this quiet was one of the first days he was there. He had listened to the older men and spent the time fastening a trench club. Using a hunk of wood and nails, shrapnel, anything sharp that he had managed to find all to make a crude weapon. He was instructed that if things got close and personal, to use that instead of wasting ammo or using his bayonet. Ammo was scarce as it is and the bayonet had a tendency of getting caught in the ribcage and being a pain to pull out. Often a man would need to jiggle it out or step upon the dead or dying body to yank the blade back out.

Alfred turned the heavy object in the palm of his hands. He had never need to use the barbaric tool before and he hoped he'd never have to. He slowly hung it back onto his belt before noticing a man beckon to him. Reluctantly, he shifted and slunk towards the man, crossing through the water scaring a rat who leapt away in the process.

"Toi, oui toi, American. Pourquoi est-ce que tu est ici? C'est pas ton bataille." He croaked, clearing his throat halfway through. Alfred cocked his head confused at the Frenchman. A part of him now really wished he had learnt the language not have made fun of it.

"I don't understand you. Do you speak English?"

"He was asking why you were here and saying that it wasn't your battle." The man next to the Frenchman added, his voice heavy with a French accent, although a bit stranger than what Alfred has heard so far.

"I- I...well, I wanted to be a hero." The Frenchman must have understood vaguely because he snorted and sneered.

"Is this the glory you thought it would be kid?" The other man growled, voice low.

"No. I never. People back home, they make it seem like such a grand thing to go and fight. I was told...no I was told lies." Alfred curled up wishing that he had never gotten the idea to go and volunteer, he would never have had to go. The two men nodded as the strangely accented one reached into his coat pocket pulling out a small box from his inner pocket."

"I was saving these for later but I think now's as good as ever." Saying that, the man passed a thin cigarette to Alfred. "You can have the first one eh?" Alfred smiled at the man's generosity as he shuffled onto his hands and knees, cigarette clenched between his teeth. The Frenchman leaned down and lit the cigarette with a lighter all while the other man leaned over to block the light of the lit smoke. Alfred felt a rush of false calm flood through his body at the first inhale of the smoke and nicotine.

"Thanks, I'm Alfred by the way." He murmured taking another quick drag of the cigarette.

"I'm Jean-Pierre and this guy here is Francis. You're one of those Americans who volunteered out?" Alfred nodded while Francis muttered something in French.

"Yeah from New York actually. And you two?"

"Moi, je suis ne en Paris." Francis said putting an emphasis on how he pronounced 'Paris'. Alfred's nod seemed to calm Francis down before Jean-Pierre spoke.

"I came from Quebec in a quiet little town where I hope to return to someday. I will be honest, I never did want to fight. I'd rather be at home, walking under the shade of the maple trees who's leaves turn to golden fire with the sweet smell of maple tingeing the air." Alfred dropped the lit butt into the water before sitting up letting Francis have his cigarette and then Jean-Pierre after him.

The three of them sat making idle chat and Alfred found it a sense of calm talking to the two of them about life. About their homes, about their families. The ones they loved and the ones they hated. It was like the man who looked to prayer as a means of solace to aide in calming them down. Soon the sun began to paint the sky in hues of gold and yet no birds sang and by now men were beginning to rock back and forth. One young man in particular shook and mumbled to himself, his eyes darting like a frightened mouse. Alfred looked over at Jean-Pierre who shrugged.

"Sometimes the quiet is the most nerve racking part of waiting." He whispered as Alfred looked back at the man whose face was ashen. Alfred shuffled over to the man placing a hand on his shoulder gently.

"Yo, you ok," Alfred said, his voice calm and quiet before the man shouted smacking away his hand. Alfred looked panicked as the man continued to shout.

"Why haven't they attacked! They should have attacked. I can't stand this. I- I have to go I need to find a way out. It's too quiet. They're gnawing at my thoughts." He moaned stumbling up onto his feet hands on his head as he lurched over in pain shaking. Suddenly a higher up officer came into view crouching low voice deep and threatening.

"Soldier sit down and quiet. You are going to give away our position."

"I don't fucking care! You don't care about us. We're just sheep. Just sheep I say. Off to the slaughter. You don't care you don't care. THEY don't care."

"Sit down, NOW soldier."

"I have to go I have to go I have to go..."

"You're not going anywhere soldier. Sit down or else." The officer said pulling out his pistol clicking the safety off aiming it at the shivering mess of a soldier.

"I have to go I have to go. I'm not going to die the quiet the quiet. It's too much to bear." The soldier wailed loudly, voice being carried through the stillness of the morning.

"This is your last chance soldier. Sit now or I will shoot you. You are jeopardizing your fellow brothers. If you do not sit down and quiet down by the count of three so help me God I will shoot you."

The man looked at his higher-up then to Alfred and back to the officer like a deer caught in headlights.

"One," the officer boomed, gaze remanding on the soldier who did nothing. "Two." Alfred felt a sense of dread as he saw the soldier's hand slowly reach down towards his gun fingers twitching as they hovered over his pistol. Just as the officers lips moved to form the word 'three' a single gunshot rang out loud and clear, echoing as men in the trench all around jumped and then the most blood chilling sound followed.

A small buzzing sound, like a mosquito buzzing around your head in the heat of summer. And then the sound grew, until it was the scream of a kettle shriek deafening as the bomb fell to the ground nearby causing men all around to fall or lurch. Alfred felt himself stumble and desperately tried to grasp the crumbling wall to no avail. He fell painfully, feeling a stinging sensation in his nose before everything went hazy. Strong hands grasped his shoulders heaving him up as he blinked awake trying to focus on the face of Jean-Pierre.

"...L...D... AL... ALFR...D...ALFRED" Jean-Pierre's voice finally registered over the shrill buzzing ringing through Alfred's ears. His hand went to his stinging nose, pulling away to show blood. "Alfred, snap out of it mon ami." He looked over in the direction that the explosion took place seeing a man stumble out, screaming. His clothes and face drenched in mud and blood and pieces of...Alfred shuddered adverting his gaze before looking back at Jean and wiping his nose of the blood using the sleeve of his uniform. It didn't take long before the officer came booming voice telling the men to get ready and prepare an attack. Men all around prepared, running towards the wall of the trench, passing a bucket and dumping anything of value in it. In the clutter of all this Alfred watched as Francis and Jean-Pierre quickly went into position at the wall, guns slung over their shoulders before he noticed movement in the corner of his eyes. Quickly, he looked over his shoulder seeing the trembling man that had previous had a meltdown. He sat curled up, back against the mud of the trench staring at his pistol. Alfred quickly adverted his eyes when he saw the man raise the pistol and shut his eyes hoping to block out the sound.

It didn't take long before he was pushed towards the wall of the trench, finding himself wedged between Jean and another man, knuckles turning white by how hard he was clenching the rope netting. Finally the call was made as Alfred felt a man behind him pushing him up as he scrambled up the netting and ran towards the enemy. It was everything he thought Hell to be. Fire, upturned trees, their roots stretching like hands clawing towards the heavens. Bullets screamed as men fell all around, dirt sprayed as more explosions screeched, covering the living and the dying in Mother Nature's cold embrace. The ground itself seemed to cry, as no grass remained and the ground was so saturated that water or what Alfred hoped was water pooled in every crater visible. He felt a bullet whiz past him, as he stumbled and faltered, losing his footing in the soft ground beneath. He crashed into a shallow crater, arms sprawling as the water in it sprayed around soaking him. It was hard to pull himself up, the water soaked clothing dragged him down, weighing him down as if the water of the pool wished to cradle him. Yet somehow he managed to get up, managed to sprint forward.

Images of his mother flashed in his eyes. The smell of homemade apple pie, fresh from the oven. His mother laughing as she tapped his hand away from the cooling pie that sat on the windowsill. His sister and her bright sunny personality. Why did he chose to leave those memories behind, that reality. Alfred didn't want to be a hero anymore. All he wanted now was to survive.

He pressed his back to a rock, catching his breath feeling his chest constrict on him suddenly feeling nauseous. A few feet diagonal from him hiding behind a rock as well, sat Jean and Francis and another man joined his side. They were so close now, maybe he ran really hard he could make it in a minute. He'd just need to survive for that minute. He noticed Francis waving at him holding up his hand. Alfred cocked his head a bit confused until Francis began to count down from five and Alfred nodded knowing that they would have a higher chance of survival if they all ran out at the same time. He nudged the man beside him telling the plan and when the time came, they all jumped out from their hiding places and bolted towards the trench. Alfred saw a man beside him get shot falling backwards from the force of the shot. He leapt over a root or piece of wood trying to keep his head down as shots rang all around him. And then, it was as if God was giving them a break.

Jean made it first quickly followed by the man who was beside Alfred as they crawled onto their stomachs under some barbed wire and took shelter behind something, just throwing distance of a grenade. Alfred soon joined them, feeling a sense of accomplishment which quickly faded the moment he couldn't see Francis anywhere. Francis was probably just a bit behind them as he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind. He needed to focus on one thing. That they were finally going to do it, finally going to push back the enemies. And just as they were about to move, the earth underfoot cracked and Alfred felt himself get blown up along with dirt and his friends. Pain was all he felt through the numbness as he landed painfully on his back with enough force to have all the air from his lungs leave in one loud gasp. Dirt rained down, clogging his nose and senses. He tried to move but his body was giving out on him. He couldn't feel an arm, in fact everything was numb and breathing became rather difficult as he stared up into the smoke that blotted out the sky. He closed his eyes as tears ran down his face. All he wanted was to survive.


	4. Sniper

Sniper - Lars' story

The silence of the past several hours were beginning to get to Lars' usually stone like patience. But now for some odd reason now, he was feeling panicked. It he was too long to not have seen any movement, to have not heard anything. He shifted on his stomach closing an eye in concentration as he gazed out the scope of his sniper, scanning the horizon for any sign of movement even though it was still too dark to really see anything, but Lars was desperate to see even the faint light of a cigarette. His fingers drummed against the side of the gun before lowering his gun in annoyance and rubbing his eyes.

The dull ache of a bullet wound pounded in his left arm as he moved it. The craving for nicotine coursed through his system and fogged his thoughts although he knew he couldn't. However he would have a better chance of lighting one come dawn break if the silence persisted until then. From the corner of his eyes he saw his partner's head nod every so often as he tried to fight off sleep. Lars couldn't help but to chuckle at that. He was always amazed by that kids spunk.

"Hey Bram, stay awake," he lightly kicked the dozing boy jolting him awake.

"Yeah? Oh sorry. Shit." Bram yawned, running a hand through his hair. "How's your arm holding up? I'm glad that medic stopped you to stitch it up." Lars only grunted at Bram's comment remembering early the other day as he was returning to the camp just before being sent back out. One particular medic had stopped him insisting upon checking him over before he headed back out. Of course Lars didn't wish for that and tried everything in his power to avoid it, but it was all in vain and his graze wound was found and of course stitched and bandaged up. He hated the idea of wasting limited bandages on something so trivial as a graze wound but the medic was having none of his complaints and did it anyways.

He sighed trying to forget how gently the medic had stitched and bandaged his wound, it was like he had a woman's touch. He seemed so young and gentle, like a lamb sent by God to heal the wounded.

"Lars?" Bram's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"What?"

"Nothing," his voice cracked as he attempted a laugh, "just making sure you weren't falling asleep." Looking at Bram's bright smile made Lars crack one as well. It was hard to not smile at him. It was amazing how Bram could remain so bright and cheerful in a place like this. Suddenly it dawned on him that he actually doesn't know anything about his partner.

"How the hell you smile in a place like this I will never understand."

"I guess it doesn't make much sense but I smile when I'm nervous and laugh when I'm scared. I will never understand exactly why. Just a defence mechanism I guess. Sorry it sounds so stupid. Mom always said that's what she liked the most about me. My ability to remain so cheerful. She asked me to smile for her as she died..." he trailed off voice wavering for a bit. "My sister and I were left to fend for ourselves. Guess you could say I'm here for her, every dime I make goes back home to her. And my dog. She's a beautiful Dutch Shepherd." He smiled suddenly at the mention of his dog and Lars nodded, curious to see if Bram would continue.

"Her name is Leila. Had her since she was tiny. She's about five now, loyal thing. I basically bottle fed her. I remember when she was a puppy, mom had left three lamb chops on the counter and went out to grab a few vegetables from the garden and when she returned Leila had pushed the plate off the counter and was already half way done the second chop. Oh mom was so mad. But every time I'd come home from school, Leila would be there waiting for me."

"You must miss your dog, you speak so fondly of her."

"Of course, but don't get me wrong, I miss my sister as well. But she was such a pain growing up."

"I know what you mean," Lars chuckled thinking of his family. "I have a younger sister who is opinionated as hell. She was so against me leaving for the war that she threatened she'd dress as a guy, shoot me in the foot, and send me home. And don't even get me started on how she would always turn the heads of every boy that walked by. There was this one particular Spanish man that caught her eyes and no matter what I did he would not leave or back down. I'm sure they would have gotten engaged if it wasn't for the war."

"Maybe there's still a chance I mean the war can't be more frightening than you trying to scare him away. And I mean if that Spaniard runs, I'm always single."

"No." Bram laughed at how quickly Lars responded and the dead seriousness tone he responded in. They remained silent as the sun began to poke out from across the horizon, painting the scenery in a rosy orange glow. Lars shifted back into position, once more looking out of the scope of the gun. Yet to his surprise, he noticed a slight glint, perhaps of another curious sniper taking a chance.

"I think I see something. You know the drill Bram." Bram nodded taking the dummy head and slowly began shifting to a safe distance from Lars to distract the potential snipe. Like all the other times before, Bram pretended he was a soldier peeking out by using the dummy and Lars would learn the opposing team's snipers whereabouts and can then take them out. However, this time something went wrong.

A shot rang out and Lars looked around confused as splinters of bark from the tree beside him hit his cheek and forehead. He felt a searing pain as something warm and wet began dripping down his forehead. He flinched feeling panic creep in. The shot didn't come from the direction of the glint but somewhere else.

"We need to get out of this location Bram," he said but it was too late. The moment he turned, another shot rang and out of instinct Lars ducked down, arms over his head as his rifle dropped to the ground. He heard a dull thud and a ringing as the dummy head dropped and the helmet circled before coming to a clattering halt followed by a large explosion down at the trenches below. Lars looked up to see Bram standing there, holding his throat as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth before slouching down onto his knees. It was then that the gunfire had begun as an endless wave of German artillery rained down into the trenches below.

Lars grabbed Bram and pulled the shaking boy onto his lap stroking, stroking his hair with his trembling hand.

"Hang in there Bram...I'll get you to help..." Lars said as he shifted his eyes left and right looking for the best chance of escape and to the medics. Bram chocked and sputtered as blood bubbled from his mouth, one hand reaching out to touch Lars' cheek. A look of desperate panic, a wildness, reflected in his eyes. Lars could see the blood leaking from Bram's other hand that must have been covering the bullet hole. A heavy feeling sunk into Lars' stomach like lead. He knew that there was nothing anyone could do for him now, not with that fatal of a wound.

"I'm so sorry Bram, I'm so sorry..." Tears of anger pricked his eyes as Bram wheezed, a rattling sound coming from his throat as more blood spurted out of his mouth.

"Not your fault...tell sister...I love...erck..." Lars placed a shaking finger on Bram's lips trying to tell him to save his breath, yet not wanting to cut off the dying man's last wishes. "And to...take care of Leila...I'm sorry Lars...I..." Bram's hand dropped from Lars' cheek as his body stopped shaking and went limp, the usually cheery life gone from his eyes. Lars, desperately tried shaking his friend and brother in arms awake. Blinking back the tears, he wiped the blood that was beginning to drip into his eye.

"I promise Bram, I promise I will let them know that." He paused looking at his friend before laying him down using a blanket for a pillow before closing his eyes and putting a smile on his face, it just didn't seem right for him to not have a smile on his face even in death. He dug through Bram's pockets before pulling out a small black journal before putting it into his jacket pocket.

Picking up the rifle, he carefully went to another of their planned vantage points, a look of dangerous determination sparked in his deep emerald eyes. Gunpowder was heavy in the air mixing with the smoke, making it heavy and hard to breath in. He saw the peaking head of a German soldier and all it took was one shot and he was downed. He reloaded his gun and took aim once more, calming his breathing as he searched for a new victim.

He heard the command and soon the soldiers on his side clambered up the sides of the trenches and onto the field, jumping over the barbed wire that were the final barricade. He watched them stumble and fall, tripping on the muddy and uneven ground of No Man's Land. One by one they fell like leaves in autumn to the cloud of bullets that hailed down upon them.

It was his job at this point to back them up by disposing any gunmen and snipers and to help them get to the opposing trench. The soldiers were quickly being thinned out with the exception of two small groups. He had to think quick, quickly calculating which team had a better chance of getting to their destination. The side closest to the left had a good sized rock that they could potentially hide behind that was also close enough to the opposing trench.

Shooting, he managed to hit a few of the Germans who peaked over to shoot at the coming group. One of the four soldiers fell as another turned and ran to his fallen brother. And then just as suddenly an explosion in the German trench caused dirt to rain down like a fountain. Shouts and screams echoed as most of the gunfire ceased.

Lars looked around for those four solders but it was no use. They were nowhere to be spotted, probably buried under mounds of mud. And then he spotted him. The young medic who had helped him was running to the last known location of the four soldiers.

"It's no use," he scowled aiming to protect the young foolish medic as stretcher bearers followed a good ways away. He watched as the medic ducked, pulling a body behind some small cover before staking something into the ground and hanging the wounded soldier's helmet on top to mark for the stretcher bearers to come and pick him up. Lars shot some soldiers who hobbled out of the ruins of the trench as the medic fearlessly ran closer to the trench. Lars had to admit that medics had a lot of guts, and were always the bravest men he had ever met.

"Come on, turn back now idiot." He growled watching the stretcher bearers get to the body that the medic had dragged away to safety and began the long trek back to their trench, carrying the body. Lucky for them the German side was still trying to regroup and gather their bearings, either that or they were fleeing, abandoning the trench and scurrying to the next one like mice being chased by a cat. He saw the soldier dig at the rubble and saw a few enemy soldiers aiming over at him. He inhaled and took aim. Bang, one down, bang another.

To Lars' surprise, somehow the medic had pulled a body from the rubble and began to bring it back. He urged him on, praying quickly for God to shield the young medic and to protect him, to get him back to the safety of their trench.

Using his sniper, he kept cover of the soldier impressed by how far he had already gone dragging the seemingly lifeless body. He was so close, he could do it. Then from the corner of his eyes he could see the glint in the distance and cursed under his breath as he jolted back and tumbled down the small slop hitting a rock. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth thanks to a small cut on his lip and his shoulder popped the moment his body crashed into the rock. He sat there slumped as stars danced in the line of his vision as his head pounded like war drums. He didn't know what to check first, the sticky feeling at the back of his head or his popped shoulder. Everything began to go blurry as he looked up at the blood red sky before feeling his consciousness drift away.


	5. Medic

Medic - Matthew's Story Continuation

It had been several months now since Matthew had landed and been overseas. He sighed looking down at the small white feather in the palm of his hand. The light breeze caused the feather to tremble as a slight shine rippled through from the setting sun. He looked up to see the splattered purple, rose and gold horizon in the direction of the front. Smoke clung to the sky like low hovering clouds blocking the painted sky, blotching God's canvas.

Matthew heard the shuffling of boots and caught sight of two soldiers from the corner of his line of sight. One held rifle with a scope attached and Matthew froze realizing that he was staring at one of their elusive snipers, a technically illegal soldier. It was then that he realized something odd about the tall man. Mainly how he held his gun and the dark stain on the sleeve of his coat that still seemed to be slightly wet.

"Sir? Excuse me, sir?" Matthew stepped in front of the two soldiers before saluting nervously as the tall man stared him down, eyeing him up as if sizing Matthew up. He quickly pocketed the feather in a pocket in his coat before he took a deep breath collecting his thoughts before he spoke once again realizing the annoyance on the tall man's face.  
"I am under order to inspect you two before you return to the front."

"No." The tall man bluntly said, stepping past Matthew and continuing on the way he was headed.

"Excuse me?" Matthew squeaked slightly trying to stand his ground. The smaller man just sighted rubbing his temple.

"Seriously, Lars, just let him see your arm."

So he was wounded. Matthew couldn't let him go and suddenly felt a rush of courage through his body as he once again stepped in front of the man named Lars.

"Soldier...sir,"

"You can tell whoever you report to that I am fine. It was just a scratch."

"Then it should be no problem to show me and if its just a scratch than you'd be off like this never happened." Matthew stared into Lars' green eyes unblinkingly, feeling a slight shiver run down his spine at how intense Lars' stare seemed to be.

"I would prefer not."

"And I would prefer not to send you home by writing a false health report." Matthew answered without missing a beat as Lars stared him down remaining silent. "How does trench foot sound?"

"I would prefer if you didn't."

"Then let me look at your arm." Matthew felt a tidal wave of pride wash over him as Lars sighed in defeat. Bringing the two over to the medical tent, they passed men who moaned in pain and sorrow, cries for their mothers and dead prayer that will upon deaf ears. One man in particular cried out for water yet no medic would give him some for knowledge of causing his ever nearing death to come sooner. Another soldier cried by the unbearable pain brought along by the chemical burns that littered his body due to his trench being bombarded with mustard gas. Certain medics and stretcher bearers muttered to one another about a certain man's boots and how he won't last the nigh. Matthew shuddered trying to block out their discussion as he passed, escorting the two soldiers. Most men here, Matthew had found out, were like vultures, waiting for soldiers to die before picking what they wanted off of the dead body and keeping it for themselves.

He stopped moving the tent's door out of their way before getting out a few medical instruments. There wasn't much room in the tent, and most of the beds in the other tent were filled currently so Matthew made do as he turned to Lars motioning for him to sit on a crate. The younger man crinkled his nose, no doubt not use to the foul stench of death and rotting flesh that filled the area, or the haunting screams of pain that were carried along by the wind. Lars started undoing the buttons of his coat before taking off his shirt slowly as Matthew tapped his foot impatiently and the younger man shuffled uneasily.

Matthew looked at the wound shaking his head as blood oozed out the moment Lars flexed at Matthew's touch. Matthew knew it wasn't infected, at least yet but there was certainly a possibility of it happening if it wasn't taken care of.

"Take that bottle over there and put a few dabs on his wound for me please." Matthew ordered passing a brown bottle to the younger man who looked ready to pass out at any moment. The younger man nodded doing as he was told, taking a wet piece of gauze and dabbing the area around the wound clean before putting a few drops of the clear liquid over the wound. The moment the alcohol hit the wound, Lars flinched and shot a cold look over at his friend. Matthew took the time to take out some line, slipping the end of it in a needle before piercing the skin. Lars once more flinched, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth against each other as Matthew stitched the wound closed in a zigzag pattern before being snipped closed.

Matthew dabbed clean the wound one final time before taking out some bandages intending to wrap it up before Lars pulled away.

"You don't need to waste bandages on this, no worries. Trust me." Lars adding, reaching for his shirt that was quickly snatched right out of his hands by the other soldier.

"Bram give me my shirt back." Lars growled before Matthew cut him off.

"Trench foot..." Lars groaned, presenting his arm to Matthew as Bram snickered tossing the shirt at Lars the moment Lars' arm was bandaged. Matthew watched as the two thanked him, one more reluctant than the other, and left. He couldn't help but think how attracted the two soldiers were before blushing and pushing back the thoughts. He looked down at his hands before packing his stuff, wishing he was still at home and packing his school bag instead.

He remembered seeing the tears in his mother's eyes as he walked down the stairs of his house in uniform. Remember her tight embrace as she muttered French words of remorse and pleas in his ears. He could still smell her strong perfume that came from France, the kind that could knock the wing right out of you the moment she walked into the room because she'd purposely put on way too much. He could smell the fresh bread that she made almost daily, the kind that she would leave out on the windowsill to cool. But worse of all, he could still remember her heart shattering sobs as he closed the door and walked down the steps and into the waiting truck that sat idling in front of their house.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the rumbling of a truck coming to deliver the troops destined for the frontlines. He walked out of the tent to overhear the other medics grumble to one another.

"I'm not going out there, I already went last time. Why don't you go Bryant."

"Fuck, like I'm heading out there. Beside's I'm being moved to treat the injured out in the countryside. I'll be doing quite a few amputations out there, so I would prefer to keep my hands."

Matthew couldn't help but scowl as his fellow medics all argued over who would be going out to the front, none of them seeming to be willing to go help the soldiers who needed them the most. From Matthew's understanding, Medics were suppose to be willing to sacrifice themselves to protect the other soldiers. Suddenly, he remembered the small ivory feather in his pocket and knew what he had to do.

"If you guys aren't going I will," a dirty blond man said, his hair curling in what reminded Matthew vaguely of ram horns.

"Ya can't go Will. You're suppose to go with Bryant."

"Well who will go. Surely none of you will actually do your fucking job. Seems like all you mates are are chickens. Bloody fucking chickens the lot. Ones who can't do their jobs. We are suppose to give up our lives to protect others. Or are you all forgetting that? To busy with the glory of amputations like Bryant here." The one named Bryant growled and was about to say something .

"If you guys are so keen to stay away from the front, I'll go instead." Matthew said stepping forward and through the group of medics who seemed relieved that they don't have to go. Matthew just kept walking, knowing that if he stopped now he might freeze from fear. Grabbing his tools quickly he jumped onto the truck clenching his fists together and staring down at his lap. He suddenly felt striped of any confidence he had getting on to the truck as it rambled along the uneven dirt road to its destination. He felt that he didn't have enough time. That he should have done more. And suddenly, he felt the need to write one last letter just in case, just in case he didn't make it. He needed his mother to know he did this. He sighed trying to wipe the dread from his mind but he knew what the front was like. Well, he knew what the others had to say about it. Truth was, he never had been to the front yet. He mainly stayed behind helping those that were injured, being the novice of all the medics on the team, he chose to learn from the seniors back at the camp. But this time, he was on his own. Of course he would have Stretcher bearers with him, and as much as the other Medics tried to degrade them, Matthew knew in his heart that they knew what they were doing, even if they didn't have all the schooling the Medics did. After all, it was a strange turn of events that made Matthew a Medic after all, he knew the truth of it all. He knew that he was more deserving of the title Stretcher bearer than Medic.

He took out a crumpled sheet of loose leaf, patting around his coat pocket for a pen before looking down sadly. Somehow he had lost his pen. Just as he was about to give up on writing his paper a familiar face smiled at him handing him a small pencil. It was the sniper's friend, Bram, Matthew believed his name was.

"Thanks," he smiled as Bram laughed.

"No biggie, I lost my pencil first day as well. Besides, I suppose you have to write to your girl back home."

Matthew's face flushed as he nervously laughed. "My mom actually. I don't have a girl back home. I wasn't the most popular of boys."

Bram looked a bit surprised at what Matthew had to say before ruffling his hair giving Matthew another heartfelt smile. "Well, that's more important than. Got to let the old girl know how her son is. But I am surprised to hear that none of the local girls fawned over you. You have such a cute face ya know. Kinda doe like. Definitely don't look like you belong in a place like this. But who am I to talk." Matthew looked down a bit embarrassed at what he had said.

"Ya I guess so eh?" Matthew weakly laughed as he began to write a letter to his mother, unsure how to even word it correctly.

Dear Mama,

I am scared Mama  
I am doing fine mama

I am sorry for leaving so abruptly. Maybe one day I can actually word the reasoning behind it properly but until then just know that it was something that I had to do. Something that I felt was necessary. I will do my best to make you proud. And know that I love you so much, and that I am sorry. Know too that I always think of you, of your perfume and your hugs, and your bread. The food out here really isn't all that great. And at night, I remember all the times where you use to sing me lullabies in French and bounce me on your lap because I had a bad dream or there was a lightning storm out. And I find myself humming them to myself to give me courage to continue on.

I know that you worry about me mama. And I know that by saying this, it will cause you to worry more but I am heading out to the frontlines today for the first time. I am sorry for not writing as much and I know full well that when I get home you will probably ground me. But I wanted to write to you just so you know that I am doing fine. I have been training under very talented seniors as well, so I will hopefully be able to graduate the year I return and help injured and sick children get better. I don't plan on giving up that dream mama.

I am heading out with a team on a small mission. So I won't be able to write to you for a few days. I will write back as soon as I can.

With love,

your son Matthew.

He sighed looking at the shaky handwriting hoping that his mother wouldn't be able to see the crossed out bits that he wrote. He quickly folded up the letter and shoved it in the pocket with the feather in it as he heard the rattling of machine guns in the distance. The truck slowed to a halt and Matthew knew it was their stop. That they would have to walk to the trenches. Suddenly he remembered the girl that gave him the feather and felt a burning rage in him just remembering her face. If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be living this nightmare. She was probably back at home drinking tea and talking merrily to her friends, never once regretting the act that she did that put him in this position. In fact she probably took pleasure in shaming boys around in town.

He felt a hand on his shoulder as he looked up recognizing Lars just before the man jumped off the truck and began walking to his position, heading in a different direction as the other soldiers. Matthew shook off his rage and joined the others, stumbling a bit from the uneven ground and the boots that were a size too big for his feet as he slid into the trench ready to live the worse days of his life.

All around him were infected soldiers that looked more like walking shambling corpses than living beings. People that scratched at the fleas that crawled all over them and bit them in painful places causing their scalps to bleed and infections to be carried through. Rats scuttled around, fat from the flesh of fallen brothers beady little eyes looking around for their next meal. Sunken hallow faces, yellowing stared back as men coughed and shivered pressing themselves closer to the walls of the trenches. The newer troops still looked fresh and chose to ignore the sickly brothers in an attempt to ignore the reality of it all, as a type of self defence mechanism. It didn't take long for Matthew to report to his commanding officer and begin the dutiful business of patching up the wounded soldiers at the front lines, sending man after man back home only to know that they would die later on the train or at one of the several war hospitals located in the countryside along the way.

The sun rose and Matthew rubbed the sleep from his eyes feeling the coming sleep tug at his conscious. It had been a brutal night of bandaging festering wounds, and he could only hope that he had bandaged them correctly in the darkness of the night. He shuffled through the mud, passing a group of soldiers who sat huddled over one another. At first Matthew didn't understand their intentions, until the smell of smoke curled up his nostrils, clinging to the hairs. He choked back a few coughs quite glad when he passed them. It was then that he realized the odd behaviours of the soldiers.

From what Matthew has been told, they were in a moment of calm and quiet where neither side was raining fire down at the other. He had thought it luck on his side. Yet dread began to sink in. Soldiers rocked, curled tightly in the fetal position their eyes wild like those of a beast who's trapped behind bars. Some men drummed their fingers on the walls of the trench, others cupped their ears and murmured to themselves. A solder sat holding a cross to his heart, sputtering words from the bible that Matthew could make out and others just looked up at the sky. It was as if they knew something was wrong. It was as if the silence was chipping away at them causing them to break. Maybe it was the opposition's idea all along. Wait for the other side to crack before shooting the staggering group of runaways. And just at that thought, Matthew heard it a sound hardly audible after the one single shot that rang out.

The quiet whistling sound that grew shriller and louder within the second, like a kettle that you place a top your stove element to make tea, a sound that rang through your skull. And then the crack, like thunder that caused the whole ground to heave in a flash of red, dirt and rock raining down all around as he was blasted back a bit from an unknown force of impact. Screams of terror and anguish were muffled as the ringing in Matthew's ears screamed. His steps became stumbles like a drunken waltz as he felt something wet raining down on his face. His hands went to touch it, to wipe it off his face and as he looked at it he felt his heart lurch. Black mud with a crimson hue to it. The sound of single shots before heavy gun fire began to clear the ringing in his head.

He heard the cries of the commanders as they rallied the scrambling forces up and out of the trenches in hope of claiming a trench and pushing the enemy back. He felt a hand grasp his shoulder and push him towards the wall where some netting made for climbing hung. Soldiers tossed valuables into a bucket, and Matthew in a hazed confusion followed suit, taking the letter he wrote and tossing it in. That way he hoped it would be sent just in case something did happen to him. The letter fluttered into the bucket just as Matthew began crawling up the netting, medic band visible on his arm, with two visible brownish red fingerprints on the crumbled and dirty envelope.

Smoke, screams, rattling, booming, yelling, mud, and blood. Confusion, utter confusion as Matthew ran in the direction following suit of all the other men. He could feel the vibration in the ground as he ducked and covered his head with his arms, slipping and falling and rushing to get back up. One by one the men around him was picked off or blown to bits. He stopped behind a rock dragging a man with missing limbs with him. He knew there wasn't much that could be done for him. And against the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach he left the man there, looking back hoping that his group of stretcher bearers were with him. His heart raced, as he realized that they were now over halfway there.

Matthew slipped in a small rut in the ground, landing on something soft and squishy that released a hissing sound a foul odour. He shivered as he realized he was upon a dead corpse and quickly muttered a prayer. As he looked back and over the edge very cautiously he saw the stretcher bearers reach the man that he had previously helped and shake their head. It was a relief to know that they were at least behind him. He climbed out of the rut hearing the shots that missed him but not daring to stop for one second. He felt like a rabbit, one that was being pursued by a fox. And that one single faltered step could spell his end as he's face down Death's open jowls, ready to consume him as quickly as the step would have taken him.

Matthew saw a single soldier in a small group fall and remain still. A surge of adrenaline kicked through him as he took off getting to the soldier and try to pull him up. He cringed in pain dropping the half conscious man as his shoulder jolted back. He bit his lip as grabbed the man and dragged him to a small rock knowing perfectly well that it would only provide cover for one. He quickly propped the man up taking the man's rifle and staking it into the ground before placing the man's helmet on it. He looked back to see the understanding nod of the Stretcher Bearers before he bolted off watching the small group of men inch their way closer to the enemies, almost close enough to toss over a grenade or something. Matthew came skidding to a stop as the ground within the enemy trench erupted like a fountain, heavy rocks and chunks of earth pelting down over the last known whereabouts of the small group of men. A part of him wanted to turn, to run, his side will see this and take advantage of this moment and claim the trench, the enemies would surely be falling back. But the idea of leaving those men behind. He closed his eyes and all he could picture was the white feather and knew what he should do.

Swallowing back his fear he continued on, determined to at least find one of the soldiers or die trying. He coughed tripping and stumbling trying to desperately find someone. He passed a dead corpse, recognizing only the uniform before seeing another man, half trapped under the rubble. Matthew dropped to his knees feeling the sense of urgency upon him as he clawed at the earth around the man's lower torso. He cringed at seeing the man's bloody arm and dug faster, trying to tug him up but finding that there was not enough leeway. A shot rang out, and another. He cringed each time but nothing happened. Finally he pulled the man's body out of the rubble and got up supporting the man. The Stretcher Bearers were already bringing back the other man so Matthew took off running, trying to use his body as a shield, although he felt the worse of it was over. Most of the enemies were already long gone, abandoning the trench for another a few short miles back.

A small bright light, like a reflection caught Matthew's eyes on their side of the battlefield, reminding him of the sniper he had helped. Perhaps it was thanks to that man that he was still alive. A few more gunshots rang out, one by one as if picking off any fleeing solider and Matthew felt suddenly reassured that someone had his back. His boots plunged into deep mud, his breath short and laboured as he put every ounce of strength into carrying this man back. They were so close, Matthew could see he outline now, he could practically hear his side cheering him on.

Please God, let me make it, please God spare our lives. If not mine than at least his. Please God, please.

A burning sensation caused him to gasp as it spread through his body like a forest fire. And the last thing he saw was his vision plummeting as he fell face first into the ground before everything went black, where all that was left was the pounding of his heart beating in his ears before that too was silenced.


	6. Wounded

Wounded - Alfred's story cont.

The lights flickered and shook until something blocked their path only for the light to be freed a second later before they continued to bounce and play in front of his eye. Were these angels, playing and dancing before him. His eyes grew heavy and he closed them before opening them again. A rattling underneath him caused his body to bounce and sway at each bounce. Then he closed his eyes again. It was so hard to keep his eyes open, but he felt a need to as he opened them one last time. Everything came into focus now. The dancing lights were merely that, lights. Not angels. But lights. He looked over to where the lights were coming from seeing a window and rolling scenery outside, the occasional tree blotching out the sun for the quick second it was in view. He felt beside him feeling the hard mattress that he laid on before sitting up with a groan. A room, he was in a room. The screeching and rattling underneath him made him think he was aboard a train. To where. Where was he.

Last he remembered was, well he couldn't quite remember anything really. His head screamed in pain as he went to get out of bed. A sharp pain coursed through his system causing him to scream in agony as he looked down at his leg which was wrapped in bandages, already turning red from whatever wound he had obtained. His shoulder ached and he couldn't feel one of his arms realizing it was in a sling.

A woman ran into his room, pale faced as she came forward putting her gentle hands on him and coaxing him back into laying on the bed.

"Please sir, you need to remain resting." Her voice cracked as if she had not slept in hours, her long hair tussled and messy in what remained of a bun. I few ringlets fell down in front of her eyes which she quickly brushed away. "You were badly injured sir. We are taking you to somewhere where they can treat you before you are sent back home."

Alfred tried to speak his voice getting caught in his throat before he cleared it, finally managing to make a sound.

"What happened." He spoke slowly and quietly as he licked his chapped lips.

"You were at the front when a tunnel underneath you exploded. From what I have heard, it was set to early and not deep enough into the trenches. You are very lucky to be alive. I believe one of your brothers in arms found you and brought you back. Do you remember your name?"

Alfred scanned through his memory, he did recall hearing a loud sound. Was that the explosion? And the sensation of being lifted up into the air, the smell of dirt and blood and the ringing. That must have been the explosion. But who saved him escaped him.

"Alfred...Alfred Jones..." The nurse nodded at him checking a paper that she must have pulled out when he was scanning his memories.

"And where are you from, Alfred?"

He looked at her a bit confused by her question.

"The front ma'am."

"No no, I mean where were you born."

He let out a small oh, before going silent. "Alfred Jones from...Texas? Or was it New York," he muttered looking over at the nurse with a sheepish smile. He could tell by the way she shook her head and jotted something down that it wasn't good but no matter how hard he tried to remember he couldn't. It was as if a heavy veil of fog hung over his thoughts and any effort he tried to make was futile. Alfred groaned slowly blinking as he heard the woman shift things around.

"We will be arriving shortly sir," Alfred craned his head over to her watching as she turned and open the door.

"W-Wait, ma'am...am I...I can't feel my arm...and my leg..." she turned around looking at him holding the clipboard to her chest, a worried expression planted on her face. "Please tell me...do you think..." She shook her head sadly at him adverting her eyes.

"Please rest up sir. " And with that Alfred looked up at the ceiling hearing the sliding rack of the door. He brought his good hand to his face, letting a sob crack out as a few tears ran down. He choked back a few sobs feeling his throat constrict, his saliva sticking to the back of his throat. He couldn't help but feel a heavy sense of hopelessness that pressed on his chest. He could just imagine his mother sobbing when she saw him, see her tanned skin fade to a porcelain as she realizes her sons bright future is no longer there. He broke out into sobs, hand still covering his face before it slide down and hung off the edge of the bed. Time seemed to drag on before the train lurched and began to slow, wheels screeching as the train came to a stop. Eventually, two men came helping to lift Alfred out of his bed and onto a stretcher and then out of the train.

The smell was the first thing that hit. Something putrid along with the moans of beings that border the dead and the living. He tried to ignore these things, looking towards the golden plants that grew , shimmering as the wind ripples through them. Clouds danced across the blue sky and a pair of bluebirds did aerial displays, ducking and weaving and flittering from tree to tree. A loud yell pierced through the moans, hysterical cries until silence as Alfred was reminded of the fate that awaited him the nearer they drew to the old paint peeled barn. He gripped the edge of the stretcher, a small whimper escaping his lips as a man with gloves and a mask approached. Alfred knew this man must be a doctor and by the looks of him, he was a doctor that Alfred did not want to meet with his apron splattered in what seemed to be fresh blood.

"Byrant, sir, we have a few fresh from the front." One of the stretcher bearers said as the doctor began to follow looking down at Alfred. Just the way he stared Alfred down made him shiver, like a hungry wolf staring down an injured rabbit, licking its jowl.

"And this one?" He said as a man passed him a clipboard. "Slight amnesia, probably from hitting his head...he was caught in a blast yes?" With those words it all came flooding back to him. Jean-Pierre, Francis. They were there with him, are they here? Did they make it out alive? "Popped shoulder, broken arm...crushed leg. No worries kid, I'll take care of you. Take him to the makeshift table on my side of the barn. You're lucky kid, the table just opened up for you." Alfred began to feel a panic grow in him as the bearers brought him into the barn just as two people carried a dead man's body which was missing a leg.

"No...n-no. Please. No don't take me in there...please no, I-I'll be fine...no please." He whimpered, tears beginning to fall again as the men helped lay him down on what probably use to be a door saturated now from a deep dark liquid. He shuddered as his hand felt the scratches in the wood and saw the pool of blood on the ground below. It didn't take long before the doctor by the name of Byrant came, setting his tools on a crate beside the makeshift table.

"P-please...do-don't..." Alfred looked over begging as he watched the man put aside a hand saw and some rope.

"I'm going to need you guys to keep him restrained for me. Just like how we normally do it. We'll do the leg first." Byrant said stepping closer taking some ripped cloth and tying it tightly around his upper thigh. Alfred's heart pounded in his chest as a throbbing came from his leg. He couldn't believe this was happening. It couldn't be happening. He closed his eyes tightly but all he saw was the saw.

"Oi! Bryant what the fuck do you think you're doing mate?!" A new voice shouted but Alfred didn't have the heart to open his eyes.

"What do you think I'm doing Will. Trying to save this man."

"This isn't saving, this is murdering." The man who's name must have been Will said with a surprising amount of authority to it.

"His leg is crushed. Or do you think you can save it Miracle worker." Alfred finally found the courage to open his eyes seeing a blond man arguing with Byrant. Alfred couldn't help but be in awe at how the man's hair curled reminding him of something.

"At least I try to save people's life. But then again you're just a sick and twisted soul. Wanting glory. How many limbs do you need to saw off? How many limbs that could be saved have you fucking sawed off? Too bloody many mate. This soldier is now under my care. And watch me save his limbs..." The man named Will stormed over untying the cloth from Alfred's leg before ruffling his hair smiling down at him. "No worries mate I'll try everything I can to save your leg kay?"

"You're not going to succeed at that." Byrant growled but Will, who seemed calm and cool suddenly, simply shrugged and brushed it off and the confused stretcher bearers brought Alfred into a different part of the barn. Will sighed following along leaning against the wall looking tired before standing up and taking a deep breath.

"Ok Alfred, that's your name right?" He awaited a nod from Alfred before continuing, "how are you feeling?" Alfred groaned a bit in pain trying to shift his position. "I am going to try and save your leg. Your arm doesn't look that bad. A popped shoulder is easy same with setting a clean break but your leg is looking pretty bad. I don't have any sedatives... or even painkillers. I am sorry to say that the only thing I really have is a bottle of scotch. It's embarrassing how low on supplies we are down here. A shipment was suppose to come in and ," he sighed clearly stressed by everything as a scream rang out, no doubt Byrant's newest victim. Suddenly Will started coughing, covering his mouth in the bend of the elbow of his shirt muttering an excuse me in the process.

"That scotch sounds pretty good doc," Alfred's voice cracked as he cleared his throat trying to calm himself down before laughing nervously, a bit worried over the sound of Will's cough. "But before we start...can I ask you something quickly?"

"I'd be glad to help if I can. So long as it's in my power to do so mate," Will cocked his head looking over at his patient before pulling out his tools and putting the sharp part of the blade to a small flickering flame of a candle nearby.

"My friends. I, I was with them." He groaned bringing his hand to his face. "I was with them when, when..."

"The explosion? Your paper says you were there over top an explosion." He coughed again, pulling out a small canister of what Alfred assumed was water before taking a swing.

"Y-yes? I just...remember that it felt like I was flying for a minute, then I was staring at grey. The sky I think...do you know what happened to my friends?" Will shook his head.

"No I haven't," he paused reading the note before putting it down. "The report doesn't mention anyone, only the medic that saved you. I could, if you tell me their names, try and find out if they were transported here. If they were at your side..." Alfred knew by the tone of his voice that the chances of his brothers in arms being alive were slim if he himself was lucky to have survived.

"Francis, and Jean-Pierre." Will nodded before pulling out a bottle passing the scotch to him.

"I'll try my best. And I'll try my best to save your leg Alfred."


	7. Enemy

**A.N: Just a quick head's up that this chapter does consist of underlining torture. I don't mention any of it just a few smacks about. Lastly I know Prussia is a big sweet heart. I just needed a character who had to do the dirty work. I am going to state this now, Gilbert does not agree with the actions that he is ordered to do. **

Enemy - Gilbert's story

"I don't care what you have to do." The albino grabbed his companion by his shirt pulling him close. "If we don't make him squeal, then trust me the higher ups will certainly make us squeal. And I can promise you-" he suddenly stopped when he heard a shingle fall and smash on the cobblestone ground of the back alley. He let go of the man's shirt before pulling out his pistol, taking a few slow and quiet steps towards the corner of the alley, finger on the trigger. His mind raced with the idea of someone eavesdropping and what to do in that situation. They were in public so a gunshot wouldonly cause more panic, however a gun to the head was a good way to make people cooperate.

Just as he was scanning through the scenarios in his head a large brown tabby jumped out from behind the corner, looking at him ear twitching before it bounded off, jumping up onto a small brick wall before disappearing out of view over the other side, probably landing in someone's small garden. He sighed in relief putting the pistol back into its holster.

"Just a cat." He muttered, running a hand through his hair. "As I was saying," he cleared his throat turning his cold red gaze back on his underling. "Use any method you can to get him to talk. He has to know something. Enemy movement, enemy location, plans. Just make sure you keep him alive." The man saluted before briskly walking away as Gilbert rubbed his temple. "Shit, if only we didn't lose that trench three months back, luckily that explosion didn't go off deeper in or we would have lost a lot more men. Damn it," he kicked a garbage tin that was in his way before leaning a bit on the wall in frustration. "We keep losing ground and getting pushed more and more back. Hopefully that captive knows something that could give us the upper-" he snapped his attention hearing something and this time he was sure it wasn't a cat. Quickly he drew his pistol and turned the corner grabbing onto the person's arm.

A shrill shriek rang out as the blonde girl grabbed his wrist trying to get him to let go of her arm desperately pleading to him in French. He pulled her to him gaze staring into her bright forests for eyes which were wild with fear. She was pretty, he would admit that. Her pale skin, her bright pleading eyes, her long blonde hair, and the cute little dress she wore. Even the glasses were a cute little touch. He felt himself flush as his stare lingered, taking her all in as his cheeks flushed and he adverted his gaze only snapping back to the reality of it all when she yanked trying to get free once more.

"How much did you hear," his voice was menacing as he dragged her by the arm.

"J'ai entendu rien. Je m'excuse, je m'excuse. Je n'ai pas entendu un mot, je le jure!" She cried, tears pinpricking her eyes before a few small pearls fell down the side of her face. Gilbert paused staring at her with a slight blank expression unable to understand the French that left her lips.

"Gilbert sir?" A man came in wearing the same uniform as Gilbert looking confused at the crying girl and his higher up. "Is everything ok?"

"J'ai pas entendu up mot. S'il vous plait, laisse-moi"

"I caught this girl from around the corner of the alley when I was discussing," he paused trying to think of a good word to use. "I believe she might have heard what I was talking about but I can't understand a word of this garble that she speaks."

"Sir, if I can be of service, she is pleading and stating that she hasn't heard a word." He said nervously licking his dry lips able to translate some of the local French.

"Here," Gilbert briskly stated, grabbing the basket from the woman's arm before pushing her at the soldier who held her now bruising arm. "If I find a tape recorder or something in here the little wretch will pay." He pulled the towel off of the basket throwing it to the ground as he pulled out a small loaf of bread.

"C'est seulement nourriture. Pour ma famille. S'il vous plait je besoin ou ma famille va mourir de faim."

"Sir, she's saying that there is only food in there. Probably all the rations for her family and her." Gilbert scoffed, pocketing the loaf that he took from the basket before throwing the basket to the ground as food spilled out.

"Why were you standing there then," he narrowed his eyes at the frantic girl whose gaze shifted between him and the soldier who held onto her.

"Je ne comprend pas Allemagne. S'il vous plait laisse-moi. J'ai vu rein, je n'ai pas entendre un mot. S'il vousplait." The soldier quickly translated the question for her and she looked up at him suddenly relieved that someone could understand her or at least help her to understand what was going on."Mon chat. Elle on courir dans cette direction."

"A cat sir, she's ummm..." he cleared his throat adverting his eyes from the albino's harsh gaze as he continued. "She was chasing after her cat, thought it was this way since she heard a noise. Damn cats don't know why anyone would keep those flea infested, disease ridden beasts in their houses. Never listen to a word that you say," Gilbert stared at the girl as if staring deep into her soul hoping to find a crack in the facade. But the more he stared and the more distressed the woman seemed, the more he actually believed that maybe this was all just bad timing.

"Tell her to get out of here and that if I see her again I will have no hesitation towards having her taken in. And that her blasted cat jumped over that wall over there." He growled waving them off as he started walking back to report in to his higher ups, pulling the loaf of bread from out of his pocket and taking a bite of the crumbling stale crust.

He paused, looking over his shoulder watching as the girl quickly dropped to her knees. She quickly gathered up the food that laid scattered on the ground, putting them all into the basket as she scurried up and out of the alley, not even bothering to dust off her dress. And with a satisfied nod, he left, tossing the bread aside and putting his hands in his pocket heading to the place where the captive was being held for further questioning. Hopefully they had cracked him. If not, well, he didn't want to think about the matter further. Hopefully the man knew what was good for him and just gave in.

*************************************************************************************  
The heels of Gilbert's boots clicked against the floor of the building as he neared a door which had two men on either side of it. They saluted as he walked into the room eyes adjusting to the dim light. He' happily comply with any job but this one. Yet here he was assigned to this task since no one before him could get the captive to squeal. He sighed loudly unbuttoning his jacket before throwing it onto a chair and rolling up the sleeves of his white button up shirt.

"Ok, let's get this over with then." He nodded to the other man in the room who picked up a large bucket of water dumping it on the man who stood in the middle of the room, tied with his arms out as if he was on a cross. The man gasped, opening his eyes wide as Gilbert stared at his grizzly face. His eyes darted around as if trying to snap back to reality, or as if he was hoping it as all a horrible dream. Either way Gilbert could care less.

"So I'm sure you know the drill pretty boy. Maybe this time you will talk hm?" He said walking closer to the blond captive who spat at his shoe. Gilbert sneered at the man, smacking him clean across the face before he paused.

"Hmmm what happened to his fingers? You guys already cut them off?" He asked noticing that his ring finger and pinkie was missing.

"No sir. Came in like that. Probably some explosion or something."The man's head bobbed down as he stared at the ground, blood trickling from his nose. Gilbert nodded as he undid the top two buttons of his shirt before rolling up the sleeves to his elbows walking to a small brass bowl that held glowing embers with a iron poker. The more he leaned down, the more his stomach sunk as he grasped the leather handle of the poker, putting the tip in the embers waiting until it was glowing the same colour of the embers within. He knew he had to do this quick or he wouldn't be able to do it at all. And if he didn't he would be marked as a traitor. His family name slandered, his brother, his younger brother. No he had to do this. For them. He couldn't risk his mistake resulting in a punishment for his younger brother.

"Wakey, Wakey Sunshine. Rise and shine." Gilbert said turning to the captive, poker in hand.

He paced the room running a hand through his hair. It was as if invisible hands clenched his lungs, squeezing all the air out of his lungs causing him to feel as if he was suffocating. His heart raced, pounding fiercely in his chest like a horse ripping through the plains hooves thundering behind it. He had never felt such fear as he grabbed all the plans he could and threw them into the fireplace of the old, abandoned building jumping each time he heard a gunshot fire out. His hands were like dead leaves who desperately clung onto the branches of the great oak in the middle of the fall as he tried striking the match against the red stripe on the box. A small fizzle was all he could hear as he rotated the match trying again. Another fizzle. Quickly he opened the box of matches only this time, he dropped them spilling matches across the floor dropping to his hands and knees to strike another match. Finally this time there was a hiss as a small flame flickered precariously on the tip of the match, burning ever so nearer to his fingers which held the thing.

The flame danced as a draft threatened to snuff it out. He couldn't help but scoff at the irony of it all. His life was much like that flame. Small and easy to snuff out, especially at this particular moment. And he knew just like the match, once he had finished what was intended of him, he would be of no use and discarded. He knew no one would come and help him. As loyal as he was to the cause. He realizes this now, of course much too late to avoid the inevitable.

A shot rang out as he stood up and sat in the dusty old armchair, staring into the dancing flames. The light of the flames reflected in his deep red eyes, ghosts of hungry wolves who leaped to eat their prey. Soon there was but the crackling and popping of the flames as he watched the envelopes curl in on themselves from the heat of the fire. He tensed as he heard the door creak open and the heels against the floor as the Unknown Soldier stopped right behind the chair.

"I will admit, I am impressed that you managed to find us here." He got up hearing the click of the safety being removed from the pistol that he could only assume was pointed at the back of his head. He knew no matter what he did or said that things would all end the same way. He walked over to the table where a bottle of alcohol sad on a silver tray with several small glasses around it. He grabbed the bottle fully expecting for things to end right then and there and when nothing happened, he poured himself a glass. "Did you want a glass as well?" The gunman remained silent but still Gilbert poured a glass. He turned around to face the gunman, glass in hand surprise plastered on his face.

"So it's you? Aw man I was careless wasn't I? Well, guess there's nothing to be done." He sighed bringing the glass to his lips. The burning sensation of the alcohol as it made its way down his throat was the last thing he felt as a shot rang out, and everything went black, ceasing to exist anymore.


	8. Captive

****Sorry for the long absence, didn't feel very confident in my writing, but recently I got the motivation to finish up the projects I have already started. And of course this series shall be the first! A good warning, like the former chapter this has implied torture, though I did not flesh it out at all. Enjoy, there's only two more chapters to go and one last character to introduce you too.****

Captive- Francis' story

The breeze caused strands of golden hair to dance, getting caught on long blond lashes and healthy glistening lips. The scene before him went black from each blink. Soon, the field before him flourished in blooming flowers, of pale blues and purples, soft pinks and hues of yellow with flecks of white. Entwining in the centre of the field was a large rose bush with one single ruby red flower, the brightest of all the field, laced in thorns like barbwire fences. He was compelled, lulled by its beauty as he outstretched his hand, taking steps forward. The grass beneath his foot gave his footing a cushion, something that felt almost foreign to him now. Then it gave way.

Grass turned to mud, heavy and hungry as his foot began to sink, taking more effort to trudge to the rose which now seem to glow from a single shaft of light. The scent of the wildflowers gave way to smoke, to smog, to something unholy like the sulphur of hell. Mud turned to sludge, now sinking him and engulfing his knees. It was a struggle now causing him to twist his upper body, swinging his arms with each step in hopes that the momentum would help push him forward. Now the sludge was like dirty, thick water, swirling around him and going up to his chest yet still the rose seemed untouched by it, thorns tipped with red beads like...blood. He watched with horror as the gnarling vines changed from green to grey and black, the thorns now barbs. And the red rose now a grinning skull with missing teach as the water engulfed his head sending him spiralling down into the churning vortex.

Francis awoke with a gasp, as the cold dirty water dripped from his hair and chin into a pool at the base of the post which he stood, arms tied out making a cross with his body. His teeth clattered as he blinked quickly a few times, trying to shake his mind of the vision of the Death's Rose. His eyes darted quickly and feverishly like a mad cornered dog as they adjusted to the darkness of the room. His breath came in heavy pants, causing his shoulders to heave as the wet hair stuck to his face.

"So I'm sure you know the drill pretty boy. Maybe this time you will talk hm?" Francis looked up hearing a voice of a young man laced with a heavy German accent causing him to realize exactly where he was. A slap forced his head to look to the side as a stinging sensation grew in his cheek. For a moment he was stunned, breath held as he tried registering what had just happened. He exhaled just before he dared a look at the man before him who had at this point, turned his questioning elsewhere.

"Hmmm what happened to his fingers? You guys already cut them off?" by now Francis was able to see the face of the speaker, to see his odd complexion as he clenched his own hands feeling the rope dig into his wrists as he turned them about subconsciously. Though the lack of proper light made it hard, there was no doubting the white hair and reddish eyes, not that it mattered anyways.

"No sir. Came in like that." Now Francis was alerted of another presence, perhaps there were multiple, he couldn't really see them in the dark, he could only see the man in front of him and the bright lights that were fixated on him. However, it didn't matter. Not anymore. Nothing really did at the moment. He was caught, in the hands of the enemies, and he was nothing but a lowly soldier. He could tell them everything he knew and they wouldn't be satisfied, wouldn't believe him, after all, he was not one in charge. He was just one of the many mindless sheep that followed orders that lead to their slaughter. Just one of the many bodies that were to be counted by the war. He hung his head feeling a pinching sensation in his nose as it began to run, leaving scarlet splatter marks on the floor below.

"Probably some explosion or something." The same voice stated as Francis flinched, mind instantly going back to that single moment of his life. The explosion...he would never forget.

The charging into the territory between the trenches, the pounding of the boots and cries of his brothers in arms. One particular friend rushed on ahead while the other stayed a few steps back...or was it he that had rushed on ahead. His memory fogged, damaged almost like a film roll missing some key frames . All he remembered was yelling, screaming and the ground erupted under foot. Somehow, it was like a volcano as if God was angry with them and decided that they had tainted the soil underfoot enough, as if the Earth itself finally snapped and attacked back...Shrapnel went flying and he tried moving out of the way, but everything was slowed, everything except the sharp metal which easily sliced through his two fingers, like a hot knife to butter. Jean-Pierre, he watched as the earth erupted and launched what, what...what was Jean-Pierre and all Francis could do was stare out, dumbfounded as mud and barbed wire and wood alike all came sliding down. The American was there, what was his name...Allie? Alucard...Alfred. And then a medic, like an angel sent from God came hair like gold and eyes kind and soft as he pushed Francis down and against a small outcrop. He ripped his coat, wrapping it tightly around his hand which now was stained red, yet it never hurt. Everything was numb as Francis slumped down, men grabbing him and hurryingly leading him back to his side. Only once did he brave a look over his shoulder. And there he saw that Medic digging the American out of the rubble as angry shouts and gunfire rained around from those remaining in the trench. Then everything began to go fuzzy, blurred before he awoke in a medical tent, hand severely bandaged.

"Wakey, Wakey Sunshine. Rise and shine." The cold hard accented voice of his captor caused him to look up, snapping out of his memory as he realized tears had rolled down his cheeks and mixed with the droplets of blood down below. His eyes widened seeing the glowing poker as a scream choked his ragged breath and the sizzling vibrated in his ears

He was left there, tied up beaten, and broken from the ordeal a mere hour ago after the albino had seemingly given up for the day, or the night, retreating into his study. Either way, Francis was assured he would be seeing him soon and Francis knew why. Nothing he could possibly say would convince the other he was telling everything. His body racked in pain as dried blood tugged his skin with each breath. The wounds first shallow, signs of hesitancy from what Francis could only guess was the leading officer of whatever hell he happened to be stuck in. A wavering sob escaped his chapped lips as he quickly closed his eyes to prevent any tears from escaping. Suddenly waves of memories, of home and his family, the fresh pies his mother would bake and the roses that grew outside of their little house. Of a beautiful girl who he had wanted to marry, Joan who's strong personality was what lead him to her who had broke his heart just before he had conscribed to the war. How he wanted to taste the sweetest of jams, drink the finest of wines again. He wanted to...to live. To truly live. To have a chance, find love, start a family, be free. Maybe get a cat...or a bird. He wanted to live, that stupid fantasy that seemed so far out of reach now. He was going to die and he wanted to live.

A part of him wanted to blame whichever medic it was who took one look at his injury and let him return home for a week before he was to return, this time to a small village which had long since been abandoned. He spent the entire time home skirting over meeting his mother. Home hardly offered any kind of retreat. Instead the war seemed to be all that people talked about. The fear of how close it was getting. And then there were the men constantly congratulating him, buying him drinks, asking him and prodding him for details and stories as if he was a hero. He was no hero. And the way they talking about the war like it was some glorious mission sickened him, only ever allowing him to stay for the one drink, as he even had to force that down. And his mother, well he never did see her that entire time, never could muster it up from his heart. He didn't want her to see him in the state that he was, shaken and bandaged. And so he returned to the war, only daring to drop a letter in the mailbox for his mother to read when she found it.

His mind reeled back to reality as a gunshot echoed somewhere in the building causing Francis to only squeeze his eyes closed tighter trying to desperately return to his memories in hope for an escape out of the unknown, out of the worry that that one single gunshot echo brought with it. But there were no comfort in them for him...

Memories flashed back behind closed eyelids to the war right after he had returned from home, where he and a small team were stationed at an old village, why they were there he never knew. Heck, no one but one man seemed to know, who simply told them to wait. And when they were ambushed, he was the first man to be shot. And then the others in the small skirmish of gunfire that they had. But it was no use and with the gun pressed to his head and his hands, shaking in defeat and mercy, he had thought he would be shot too. Instead, they had somehow thought that he was the leader of the small brigade and took him hostage when really he had no clue. If only he was shot then, if only... And that was the unfortunate event that lead him here, being tied to a post with holes burnt down his legs and arms, decorating his torso like a child with the pox as his memories faded and reality sunk back in, in the form of the darkened room.

He twitched, hearing footsteps and voices outside of the room as anticipation for what was to come seem to freeze time entirely. This was it, this was the end for him he had wore down all luck he may have had by this point, he was certain of it. He muttered a prayer, the same one his mother taught him when he was younger as a thin shaft of light expanded, illuminating the darkness. He was blinded for a few moments, blinking and squinting into the light from eyes who have adjusted far too well to the darkness that once was around him. Finally he was able to make out one figure which stood blocking the doorway doing a motion as if they were wiping their glasses before they finally spoke,

"Hello Mister Bonnefoy, I'll be your escort out of here yes?"


End file.
